


Mama Knows Best

by lolahaze



Category: Sharp Objects - Gillian Flynn
Genre: Drugged Sex, F/F, Fade to Black, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24191752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolahaze/pseuds/lolahaze
Summary: Three sisters, bound by one mother.
Relationships: Adora Crellin/Amma Crellin, Adora Crellin/Camille Preaker, Adora Crellin/Marian Crellin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20
Collections: Villain of My Own Story Exchange 2020





	Mama Knows Best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigo_inks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_inks/gifts).



Marian doesn’t know any better. That’s why she’s Mama’s favorite. Pure and ignorant, like fresh snowfall. 

Even if she did know better, she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t question. She lies there, pretty as a corpse, and lets Mama do whatever she wants. If her hands slip under her clothes, if her fingers linger for too long, if her mouth scrapes and bites against her skin, well, who is Marian to question that?

Marian is Mama’s angel, now and forever. 

She never tells Camille what Mama does, but she thinks Camille knows anyway.

Amma endures, with teeth, feral in her fury, but blunted. Amma takes care not to leave marks on her mother, and Adora, in turn, takes care of her better than the rest.  “Take your medicine. Drink it all up. That’s a good girl,” Mama says.

Amma likes it, maybe a little, maybe more than a little. She squirms when Mama touches her, but deep down, Amma wants to be her good girl, shining bright with her mother’s love. After all, it’s still a competition, and Amma wants to be the favorite. 

But Amma knows she can’t compete with Marian, no matter how good she is, and she hates her dead sister for that. Amma has always known too much. 

Camille is the sickest of them all. Camille burns with jealousy, for as long as she could remember. 

Marian never needed to tell her what Mama was doing. Camille already knows, and all the while, she wonders,  _ why not me.  _ Her mother’s hand doesn’t linger on her hair, her mother doesn’t press kisses into her skin. Her mother spoon feeds her medicine and Camille spits it out, because she’s a hard girl, a difficult girl. Loving Camille is like going to war.

BASTARD aches on her calf, the constant reminder she carved onto herself. 

It’s her fault, she knows; she’s a bad daughter, and Adora is a bad mother, and that makes them made for each other. Camille isn’t a good girl like Amma or Marion. 

Camille needs to be tamed.

Camille needs to  _ heel  _ beneath Adora’s foot. 

So then, decades later, when Camille lets herself be poisoned—-for Amma’s sake, for Natalie and ANn’s sake, this is all just Camille’s fault at the end of the day, for not being a good girl in the first place—-Camille decides to takes what she can get. The taste of her mother’s medicine is foul, but her mother’s smile is sickeningly sweet as SICK burns across her chest.

She allows her mother to take her to her room, take off her clothes, bit by bit, peeling them off her, exposing her ruined skin, until Camille is naked and exposed and humiliated against the silk sheets. 

WRETCHED flares up on her belly. Camille is so sick she can only breathe hard now, trying to catch her breath. The world fades in and out. She is sweating all over her mother’s beautiful bed. She is ruining everything. 

Her mother’s hand lingers too long on her scars. “Look what you’ve done to yourself, _ ”  _ she says, as her hand runs down her arms, her stomach, her belly, her chest, her breasts, tracing her fingers over each word. Slut. Vanish. Hard. Slit. “Do you hate me that much?”

Camille has always been a heartbreaker. 

“I never hated you, mama,” Camille confesses, panting, flushed with fever and need. She already feels like she’s dying. She already feels herself slipping away.  Camille no longer wants to be stubborn; she wants to be loved, for once. 

“Please,” Camille moans. “Please.”

Adora looks down at her, her hair like a halo around her head; she’s beatific in this light, glowing, right in her element. Adora was born to be adored, Adora was made to hear her daughter’s pleas, Adora’s victory over her eternally stubborn daughter turning her resplendent. 

CHERRY lights up, when her mother touches her, at last—-hot fingers sliding in her slick cunt, spreading her wide,  _ wide _ open. Camille gasps as she enters her, shivering, tears leaking out from her eyes and running down her face. Her mom’s touch burns inside her, like a new scar. 

“Mama,” Camille moans, shuts her eyes, and for once, lets her mother love her.


End file.
